The Stars Who Listen
by FicsByGS
Summary: During the war with the humans Rhysand's only saving grace while a prisoner of Amarantha were the dreams given to him by the Cauldron. Dreams that were about a human girl with golden hair and calloused hands. This is the story about his determination to meet this girl, no matter what the costs may be.
1. Preface (Rhysand's POV)

The years since the war with the humans have been nothing but peaceful. Of course, there had been squabbles between the courts and their high families, but nothing ever amounted to the war that had passed. The war that had taken so much from all of us. The fae in Prythian have long since renounced their human slaves, abiding by the treaty, and we have been separated from them by the wall ever since. Staying on our side of the wall has remained relatively easy. I have been spending most of my time in Velaris, the city that I had done so much to protect. I had thought that my life would have returned back to normal after the war, though I had no such luck. Even with spending all of my time with the members of my Inner Circle, planning on how we could uphold our image to the other courts as the Court of Nightmares, as we shrouded our true natures from the world as we always had, I felt as though something wasn't right.

At first, I thought it was an impending threat, just my mind and soul trying to heal from the horrors of the war. The things that I had seen as a prisoner of Amarantha had made me count my blessings and consider myself lucky for all that I had waiting for me after the war, for Velaris, for my Inner Circle, for the entirety of the Night Court in general. After some time, however, I realized that it wasn't the war, it wasn't the wounds that had bothered me so, the nightmares that I still had, it was her. My light during the war. My mysterious maiden. If I was lucky, the Cauldron would grace me with a dream of her. I still haven't seen her face, I still do not know who exactly she is to me, but if the Cauldron deems it appropriate to be sending me brief images of her apparent difficult life, as the war had taken as much (if not more) from the humans as it had from the fae, who am I to complain?

I could hardly call them dreams in all actuality, when they were just about the only thing that made me feel awake, made me feel alive. Being back with Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor was what I'd dreamed of during the war, though something was missing. Something that painted delicate flowers on the legs of a table and watched them slowly fade away. Not a something, but a someone; a girl who painted the night stars on her dresser drawer based on an image that I had somehow pushed through the apparent bond that we had. I did that sometimes, sent her things through that invisible bond. It could be anything: a view of my city from above, the night sky, bright as could be, even a bit of music that I remember hearing walking through the streets of Velaris. I never got much of anything back, except a surge of warmth, a kind of glow that I knew was an unwilling response to my images. I'd always been able to play with minds, but this was different. I had no desire to read her thoughts or climb inside her head, I only wanted to feel that lovely, addicting warmth. To bathe myself in it.

They've all told me it's useless to go in search of her. I can tell through our bond that she isn't fae, she's simply a human. Mor swears she'll probably try to kill me, her exact words being "Rhys, that's just what they do." Cassian swore to me that human women aren't as good looking as the fae women, and to trust him because apparently he had experience with both. Amren and Azriel had both agreed that some dream, some hallucination, wasn't worth all the fuss. "After all", they claimed, "what if she wasn't even real?" But I couldn't give up because thanks to the bond that we shared I just _knew_ that she had to be out there waiting for me, even if she didn't realize it yet. It's out of pure curiosity, I told them, that I had to discover who this young maiden was. There was no way around my wonder with her. I'd probably be back within a day, losing interest as soon as I heard her speak, or, at least, that's what I told them. I was fairly certain a bond like this wasn't for nothing. It had to mean something. _She_ had to mean something. And I was going to find out who she was and what exactly this bond between the two of us meant if it was the last thing I did.

I was just about to leave for the mortal realm, preparing myself mentally for whatever I may face, when I got the feeling that I was being watched. Looking up, I saw none other than Mor.

"You know, Rhys, curiosity can kill the cat." I wasn't sure when she had entered the vast dining room, but looking at her, sitting at the other end of the large, empty table, something looking like concern was etched onto her features. _Worry_ , I realized after a moment. She was worried about me.

"I'm the same as an animal now? That's cruel, cousin, even for you," I drawled, eyes dancing with mischief to help her relax.

But her worry wasn't going anywhere. "You've been different, more compulsive since… since you were her prisoner." A wave of darkness entered my mind, creeping slowly at first, attempting to turn me back into who I was during the war, but I fought back against it. Prisoner to Amarantha, her little whore during the war, kept so cruelly from fighting for my own cause, for the cause of my family. I shook my head, attempting to expel the dark memories. "We just want to make sure this isn't some kind of rash decision, one that could hurt you."

"We?" I growled, eyes narrowing. "Did you just draw the short stick, Mor? Are the others waiting outside to see how you fared?" I asked, feeling a spark of hurt in my chest. "My business is my business, Mor, and I just have to know her." I pleaded, hoping that of all of them, she would understand.

Mor stayed remarkably still, considering it was _the_ High Lord of the Night Court glowering at her. She didn't so much as flinch. "If this is something you have to do, Rhys, then so be it. We just want to make sure you come back in one piece."

"Oh, please," I purred, a smirk crawling onto my lips, "They're only little humans. How much harm could they do to someone like me?" And with that, I stood, wearing the clothes that I thought would best fit in in the human realms, which included a pair of dark pants and an easy, knitted sweater.

Mor didn't look pleased, but she, I could tell, was at least sympathetic. She understood that I needed to get out, needed to be free of everything. Amarantha had taken a considerable toll on me, one I hadn't fully healed from yet. "I'll send word of how I'm faring," I told Mor, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Don't kill anyone of importance while I'm gone."


	2. Chapter 1 (Feyre's POV)

After the war, walking through the forest was easy. Crunching twigs beneath your feet was child's play. Before it had been a dangerous game, walking into territory infested with hidden fae that were waiting to pounce on a small, golden-haired girl or perhaps a legion of sword wielding villagers, whichever happened to come first. But the war was over. Any fae who'd been forgotten by their troop, any who'd been left to fend for themselves, had long since been slaughtered. There was no forgiveness in a village like this. So close to the wall, only the strong survived the war, but the weak weren't forgotten. I walked by the remnants of their homes today, heading home with a lifeless rabbit in my hands. Some vagabonds tried to rebuild the lost estates, wandering from village to village until they found a home burnt to the ground or flooded beyond repair, smashed to bits or even just completely gone, only the stone foundation left behind. They were heartless, the drifters. They didn't care for those who'd inhabited the home once. They didn't care that the Jackle's were burned alive for using their home as a base for human soldiers, or that the Penn's were tortured for information on battle plans, plans that the vicious fae knew they didn't have. They just pissed on the land and called it their own. They had no respect at all. It was Nesta who hated them the most, her face twisting into a menacing glare whenever one dared to cross her path in the square. Most had learned to keep their distance from her by now, as she wasn't afraid to speak her thoughts concerning their disrespectful nature.

I understood her feelings. In the years before the war our town had been quiet, not quite friendly, but calm. There wasn't any animosity between homes. But once the war began each family had to very much fend for themselves, only trading useful goods or services when absolutely necessary. There was always a silent hope, though, that after the fighting, after the death and the sorrow, we would be calm again. Quiet and calm. The drifters didn't live here during the war, they didn't endure what we did, so why should they claim land and houses that they had absolutely no right to?

It could be hard to think about those years, so I always figured it was in my best interest to try and forget. I preferred to just live how I could; hunting, maybe fishing in the brook every once in awhile, and going home with my hands raw and calloused in time for Nesta to glare and my father to whine. Today is no different. Marching out of the woods that day was, I liked to tell myself, as easy as falling asleep. I did everything in my power not to think about the time a Naga had crouched behind the red-budded bush I was walking past, tried not to think about how it had grabbed onto my shoulder and scratched and bit until I bled. Instead I focused on the sounds of my footsteps, soft and light, as to not terrify the animals I wished to kill. Autumn wasn't a bad season, and we had enough to eat, but I wasn't going to get too cocky. I remembered the winters where it seemed skin stuck to bone and the cold burrowed straight into your chest and never left. If I could preserve enough, or build up a small amount of money, maybe, then we could _live_ this winter, instead of merely _surviving_.

This, however, was merely a hopeful wish of mine, for I knew that nothing was going to change as long as I remained the sole provider for my family. I will always wonder how I allowed myself to become the most responsible, but then I remember my mother on her deathbed. I wish she had never asked this of me. I wish she had never asked me to take care of them, of Elain, of Nesta, of my father. I was the one who was supposed to be cared for, being the youngest, but no. Instead, I had to be the one doing the caring.

 _Caring_ , I thought. As if I actually cared about their fate at this point. I took care of them because of my promise to my mother. Had it not been for that promise, I do not know if I would have stayed with them for so long. I always wondered that if I had indeed chosen to leave at some point, would father step back up to take care of Elain and Nesta? Or would he simply still sit by the fireplace and complain about not having enough food while they all slowly starved? Not that it matters, because my promise to my mother is one that I intend to keep. That promise is what constantly leads me back to these woods.

I consider the woods to be both my saving grace and my own personal hell. In one way, they granted me the solitude that I did not have at home. When sitting beneath the trees, or possibly up in their branches, waiting for whatever unsuspecting creature would become our dinner, I had time to think. Think of the way the war had forced me into these woods to find food, as every other scrap was being sent to the soldiers. I used to fear these woods, since they were so close to fae territory, but fear becomes second to the hunger that I have now grown accustomed to. As much as I enjoyed the solitude and silence at times, the quiet could sometimes become deafening. Silence usually meant that no creatures were around, therefore meaning that there would again be nothing for me to bring home to feed my family. If they had nothing, then I for certain had nothing, since they all got their pick of the meat first. Truth be told, I was not quite sure how much longer we could survive like this.

I shook my head of the thoughts, trying to clear my mind of, well, everything. I didn't really have any bright spot in this life, I had nothing to look forward to but falling asleep. In my dreams, I saw stars brighter than the sun and heard music that could only be made by blissful, lovely people. My dreams were vastly preferable to my life, as sad as that was. But I had food for the night, and the next, so I couldn't complain. I was almost home by then, passing only a few more dirt roads until I was back at my family's hovel.

Walking up to it, it looked so sad, so empty. The walls were worn and crumbling in some spots, it was just a ghost of a house. It suited me, though, as I was a ghost of a girl. Today, however, there was an oddity. Today, with the sun starting to set into a pretty pinkish sky, there was a man. A man with a mop of black hair so dark, that it seemed to simply swallow the light. A man wearing plain clothing, a slightly worn tunic and pants that although old, were perfectly matched. A man with strange, violet eyes, eyes that were looking directly at me.

As he noticed me approaching, he stood and grinned at me, as if he had a million secrets stuck in his heart that I would never know.

I definitely didn't recognize this man, but something about him felt oddly familiar. "Can I help you?" I asked, tone biting and indicating that I very much wouldn't like to help him.

His mouth turned up at the end in a smirk, as if my icy tone egged him on. "Well I sure as hell hope so, the girl inside was rude as balls," he purred.


	3. Chapter 2 (Feyre's POV)

After insulting my sister, he just stood there staring at me with the smirk still present on his face. I gave him a look, indicating to him to continue whatever it was he was going to say, but still he just stood there.

"I don't have all day," I snapped.

As if not hearing me, he continued to stand there smirking. At this point, it was starting to become a little unnerving since I'd never seen this man in my life. I ignored the subtle feeling of familiarity that was deep inside me and began to move past him. I wasn't about to spend the rest of my day standing outside having a complete stranger gawk at me. There were things that needed to be done, like cleaning and preserving the rabbit's meat that I was still holding in my hand.

"If you don't need any help," I spat icily, "then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have things to do," holding up and gesturing to the rabbit's carcass.

This seemed to bring him out of his trance. The smirk that was on his face was gone, replaced by a suddenly serious look. He straightened his back, bringing himself to his full height, and finally opened his mouth to say, "In fact, I do need help."

I think he expected a response, but all I gave him was an annoyed look.

With a slight roll of his eyes, he continued. "You see, it's kind of a funny story. I was riding my horse around the area when I decided to tie him to a tree and go for a walk around the town. Next thing I know, I'm back at the tree and my horse is gone."

"Really? That's interesting… since we're on the edge of the village. What made you wander so far?" I asked, eyes narrowing at his obvious lie. No one left their horses unattended in a town like this.

The man shrugged, a glimmer in his violet eyes. "I suppose you could say something drew me here."

"I'm still listening for the part where I can help you." I was getting tired of him already.

"Well…" he started, beginning to smirk once again, "I was hoping you would let me stay the night until I figure out what to do in this predicament."

"You want me to let a complete stranger stay in my house tonight? As far as I can remember, I don't know you from anyone or anywhere." I say, and again, gestured to the rabbit and then to the shack I called home, "And as you can see, we aren't exactly a bed and breakfast."

"Oh I'm not so bad, perfectly civil, even... most of the time." He purred, gaze never leaving my own. "Would you really let me stay out in this chill all night?" He asked, pretending to shiver from the nonexistent cold.

"You'll be fine," I told him, starting to walk up to the door. This man wouldn't have admittance to our house. We didn't have anywhere to put him, anyway. My sisters and I were cramped, my father sleeping in the chair by the fireplace nightly. Still, though, he stepped in front of me blocking my way to the door and the warmth of the fire that I surely knew would be burning. That's the one thing I can always count my father on doing.

"Wait," he started, "you're really not going to let me stay the night?" The look on his face was nothing short of shocked and incredulous. I'm guessing he isn't used to be turned down.

I stared back at him, unflinching at how floored he was. "Why should I?" I asked him, thoroughly bored with the conversation.

The man sighed, and dug into the pockets of his jacket, pulling out a small pouch. "I suppose I could make it worth your while, if you're going to be so rude about it." He grunted, extending the pouch to me.

Still glaring, I took the pouch from him and looked inside. Gold. The pouch was filled to the brim with gold. _Of course_ , I thought. _Of course he just happens to be rich. Who does he think he is? Does he really think I can be bought?_

"Take your money somewhere else," I barked, my pride surging as I threw the pouch at his feet. "I already told you, we're not a bed and breakfast."

This particular snarky remark seemed to bring his ever present smirk back, the one that had disappeared when I told him he couldn't stay. Leaning down to pick the pouch up he responded, "So you're really going to reject the gold when your family is inside starving and cold? I would have thought that you would have jumped at any chance to earn money you had. If you let me stay, I promise I won't get in your way."

The more he spoke, the more rage I felt. "Do you really think that insulting my family and I will get you anywhere?" I snarled.

"Just take the gold." He said, eyes suddenly seeming a bit softer, as if he didn't mean to insult us that way.

"No." I began to hear rustling from the other side of the door. Slowly, Elain cracked open the door to see what the commotion was outside. _Took her long enough_ , I thought. _It's not like he's been standing out here talking to me for nearly five minutes already._

"Feyre?" she whispered. "What's going on?"

"Don't worry Elain, I'm just trying to get this man to go away and leave us alone."

"What does he want?"

"He's trying to get me to let him in and stay the night. _Apparently_ his horse ran away and he has nowhere to stay."

"I'm willing to pay!" the still mysterious stranger interjected.

"Pay? Really?" Elain squealed, voice getting louder, the idea of having some extra money making her excited.

"Yes," he said. "I have a pouch full of gold here, but your sister refuses to take it."

"Oh, ignore her," Elain scoffed, opening the door wide now. "What's your name?"

"Rhysand, my name is Rhysand."

"Well, Rhysand, please do come in and make yourself as comfortable as possible." The door was now fully open, and the stranger, whose name I now knew to be Rhysand, waltzed right in. I could've sworn the smirk on his face was meant especially for me.

 _Great. Just great_ , I mentally scoffed, rolling my eyes as I, too, walked inside. _Another mouth to feed tonight._


End file.
